


I Want to Break You in Half   (Beauty So Maligned)

by subito



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subito/pseuds/subito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom/James, Glastonbury.</p>
<p>Inspired by (and with words from) Tom's Glastonbury <a href="http://noisey.vice.com/en_uk/blog/glastonbury-dispatches-tom-watson-mp">article</a>.<br/>In that spirit, the title is taken from two songs by Drenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want to Break You in Half   (Beauty So Maligned)

Tom is surrounded by people who look as young as he is feeling and for the first day he doesn’t notice that anything’s off. Then the wave of excitement ebbs away and all he’s left with is a field of mud and flocks of seagulls scavenging the tents. He’s lacking in enthusiasm, in energy, in euphoria. He caught no sparks, even though he was only hoping for a small bonfire, and what was supposed to reignite his passions just seems to confirm all his doubts. 

That night he stumbles through the campsite, trying to remember the way back through the light buzz in his head and the blue-ish black that wraps itself around dimly lit triangles. The music is droning from afar with not enough bass to hurt his ears and not enough genius to stick in his head. Too polished, too tame. Tom kicks at something in front of him - dirt, a can, a tent peg, air – it doesn’t matter. What he misses is rawness and something, someone who can give it to him.

The last thought was only there because he had been seeing a ghost all evening. While standing listlessly in the crowd, his mate cheerfully talking and getting drinks, he saw familiar features in the corner of his eye. A small nose, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, a cap covering the hair; it could have been anyone but his mind told him that wasn’t true. However, every time he turned around the man was gone, had maybe never been there, and Tom took another sip from the plastic cup that had been pressed into his hand, determined not to let those thoughts take over.

When his shoe hits something in midair, Tom’s still thinking about how strange it was that here of all places he should fall back into the patterns that dictated his life all those months ago. One of his hands manages to find a thin tent rope and he avoids falling face first into the mud. He is glad he doesn’t hit his head on anything as he lands on his back and, thankfully, no one is there to see his rather ungraceful struggle to get up. 

Suddenly there is a hand on his arm though, pressing him back down, and then someone is sitting on top of him. Tom goes into full panic but the initial shock has given the other person time to pin Tom down, hands above the head, thighs pressing together his sides, and a surprisingly slim torso pressing down on Tom’s chest. 

“Stop moving!” the man tells Tom, who is too busy freeing his hands to recognise the words spoken warm against his neck. The familiarity hits Tom when one of his fists connects with the man’s jaw. There isn’t so much as a wince, just a rather softly spoken “Tom.” that gets through and causes Tom not to throw a second punch. He pushes himself up instead, driven by the need to regain some sort of control - and to make sure the other person is real. 

“Wha- what are you doing? What- What?” Tom knows he is screaming, his voice shrill with the remaining traces of panic. How can you do this to me? is the question that doesn’t come out. Because, really, if anyone should know about how not okay Tom is with people secretly following him and semi-attacking him in the dark, it’s James. 

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” James raises his hands, still sitting on Tom’s belly. “This was the only way I could think of to get you alone.” The last bit is almost whispered and for a second Tom wants to laugh. 

“That’s not very reassuring.” He says rather matter-of-factly and wishes it weren’t as dark so he could actually see the other man’s face and not just a sort of grey circle with black lines. Adjusting the contrast would be nice, searching for the imagined lines of apology and maybe guilt. 

James still hasn’t moved but is straightening his glasses that had almost fallen down because of the punch. Even with his sight veiled by the night, Tom can tell how James is resisting the urge to rub at his jaw and a spurt of satisfaction is running through Tom’s body. There is also something else pumping through his veins, something that makes his blood run faster, causing him to recognise the dull ache in his knuckles. It’s the echo of something he is now very aware has been missing for some time.

Tom is sure he could push James over fairly easily but he continues to support himself on his elbows and asks “What are you doing here, James?” It sounds a bit cold and he almost takes it back until he reminds himself how he got into this position.

“I’m here for the music, of course. Tom.” The way he says Tom’s name sounds bitter and also like it’s something he doesn’t get to say very often, a new word that still feels odd around his tongue. 

They are staring at each other, or at least Tom thinks they are, and the silence between them is seeping into Tom’s skin, causing a feeling that is either prickling or numbness or both. It’s even more uncomfortable than the wetness of the mud soaking his shorts and polo shirt. He lets his head fall back onto the ground with a sigh and closes his eyes.

One of James’s hands tentatively starts to stroke Tom’s side. His fingers are barely touching the woven fabric and James hopes Tom doesn’t notice the way his hand falters the first few times when he moves it down to where his own leg is applying pressure to the end of Tom’s ribcage. 

“That was a good hit.” James states.

Tom opens his eyes. “There’s more where that came from.” It’s spoken without malice but it’s not obvious if it was a threat or an offer.

James doesn’t look at Tom but his hand stills and he is slowly starting to get up. He keeps his hand where it is and uses it to push himself upwards, fingers sinking into Tom’s soft middle. Tom is watching James and considers dragging him down again because the few seconds that have passed are already enough to let all those things slip into the spaces between them which Tom has fought so hard to drown.

He doesn’t take James’s outstretched hand. Instead, he presses his lips together, his eyes following the reaction by narrowing as Tom tries to think. But as soon as Tom is standing, James starts to walk away and Tom has no time to reflect on why he is letting himself be dragged back into this so willingly.

“Those were my last spare clothes.” Tom tells James as they take a tiny path through a seemingly endless sea of tents. Navigating those treacherous rocks is something Tom doesn’t feel up to but there are undercurrents pulling him along, emanating from the man in front of him, and when he stares hard enough onto the ground, he thinks he can see swirls appear. Tom suddenly feels self-conscious about sounding drunk.

“I could offer you a place to dry them.” James answers after a brief pause. He keeps walking but turns his head. It’s only the movement Tom registers and the tiny bit of light that bounces off James’s glasses. It’s the closest thing to a connection he’s felt in the last days.

Tom’s clothes cling to his body in an uncomfortably heavy way in some places so he says “okay”. If James reacts to that, Tom doesn’t notice. James’s head is turned to the path in front of them again and there is only so much one can tell from the back of a head, even in broad day light. It’s thoughts like that which keep Tom from thinking about James’s mouth. 

After a short while, James finally stops walking and bends down to brush away a large flappy thing that might be a door. Tom can’t tell where he is or what they’re stepping into exactly and a part of his brain insists that he should at least be a little worried.

He pushes those thoughts aside and lets his eyes adjust to the shadowy forms inside what he presumes to be James’s tent. They have to duck a bit but for what it lacks in height it makes up in floor room. An already burning oil lamp hangs from a hook above a small plastic table and illuminates enough of it to make out a rather large sleeping space and another area in the back that is separated by some kind of wall. Tom runs his fingers over it and it certainly feels like tent material – synthetic, thin but robust, and making a high sound when a fingernail digs into it with minimal pressure. It’s almost like an electric spark, travelling through Tom’s arm and causing the hairs there to stand up. 

James is standing next to him - watching, waiting - and the warm light actually suits him quite well. There is a hint of stubble on his cheeks and Tom’s mind remembers the pictures of James with a beard. The tingling in Tom’s fingertips causes him to lift his arm to James’s face, fingers brushing ever so lightly over the rough edges of those tiny hairs. James turns his head to go with the touch, looking directly into Tom’s face without any visible emotion.

Tom find’s the spot on James’s jaw that is marked by a hint of darker-coloured skin, easily dismissed as a shadow, where capillaries burst not too long ago. The thought of blood pooling beneath the surface has Tom pressing his thumb into it. James inhales sharply but lets it happen. The beard would hide it very well Tom thinks and then he thinks of all the other marks he could leave that no one would ever see. 

He slowly forces James’s chin higher, looking into the dilated pupils that appear almost completely black even when the light hits them. James doesn’t break eye contact and Tom can see James’s Adam’s apple move as he tries not to fidget.

Tom lets go of James’s jaw and looks around again. There are two foldable chairs by the table. Tom starts to take off his polo shirt and James calmly sits down in one of the chairs and watches him strip. The shadows move across Tom’s naked chest, exaggerating the already ample curves.

When Tom turns around to drop the shirt over the second chair, James spots a bit of mud on Tom’s back, just above the belt that keeps up the shorts and he raises a finger to rub at it. Tom immediately turns around again, eyes glinting a bit, and catches James’s hand. He is bending it back and stares into James’s eyes until he gives the tiniest nod. 

“I haven’t allowed you to touch me yet” 

He gives James’s hand a little twist that he knows will hurt in the wrist and then lets go. Tom opens his belt and unbuttons his shorts, letting them fall down and exposing his underwear that is not so much hiding but rather displaying just how much he needs this. 

James’s eyes are level with where Tom’s belt used to be and he can’t help but lick his lips. Tom notices and slowly lets one of his hands cup his bulge. His eyes are fixed on James, taking in the tiniest reactions while he strokes himself through his pants. James’s eyes haven’t wandered but he unconsciously spreads his legs. 

With his free hand, Tom grabs a spindle of thin rope from the camping supplies that are scattered on the table, and makes sure to bring it just to the edge of James’s field of vision. When Tom sees James’s eyes flicker to it, he stops moving his hand and says “Don’t move.”

He steps out of his shorts and strips off his shoes, then moves behind James and starts binding the tanned hands behind his back and to the chair. Tom deliberately keeps the bind loose, just so he can tighten it in one go when he feels James testing the restrains. The rope sliding into James’s wrists, nipping at the skin and pulling at hairs, earns Tom an audible hiss.

The spindle of rope comes with a sharp metal clip with which Tom snaps off the rope in a way that will make it easy to untie it later. He brings it close to James’s arm, letting him feel the metal, but resists the urge to run it across the skin. It’s enough foreshadowing for James to shiver. 

As Tom steps back in front of James, he runs a hand through the unfamiliarly long hair and gives it a sharp tug, forcing the head so far back that James has to arch his back and lift himself off the chair. At the point when only Tom’s grip on James’s hair is preventing James from falling over, Tom steadies the chair with one foot and lets go. 

James’s had is hanging forward, mouth slightly open, his lips showing marks of where he must have bitten down on them, and his chest is moving with a fast rhythm that is mimicked by Tom’s heartbeat. 

He looks up at Tom and says “You better take those glasses off of me.”

Tom slowly lifts the glasses off James’s face and watches as the magnified eyes close, replacing the rich brown with paler eyelids and the feathering of hair that is moist with dew of early tears.

When James opens his eyes again, Tom gives him a light slap that James receives without much reaction. It doesn’t turn James’s cheekbone pink yet but it gets him to focus. Tom takes a step forward so his groin is only centimetres away from James’s face, and pulls down his pants. 

James’s mouth opens immediately and Tom grips James’s hair tightly again so he can guide him onto his erection in exactly the way he needs. 

It’s not like Tom hasn’t received any blowjobs in the last months. But young staffers full of adoration just don’t compare to a man who knows all about desperation and dark things and empty spaces that need filling, however temporarily. Here’s a man who knows what it is like wanting to forget, someone who isn’t afraid to ask for any means imaginable and take whatever solution is thrown at his feet. Tom had learned that even before they were alone for the first time. And ever since he saw the glint in James’s eyes after he had surrendered himself so completely, Tom had secretly known that nothing would ever be able to satisfy him like this. 

Tom’s hand wanders to the back of James’s head, where the hair is short and his fingers can feel the shaved outline over strong neck muscles. He pushes into James’s mouth as deeply as possible, giving him no room to back away. Tom can feel James’s throat tighten around his cock and he tries to push in even deeper until he can’t help but moan as James is starting to gag.

With every little push he can feel James struggle with his breathing, fighting the gag reflex, and every spasm of James’s throat sends a wave of pleasure through Tom’s body that builds and builds and threatens to put an end to this way too soon. 

When Tom can’t take it anymore, he pulls out, panting, and watches James gasp for air. There is a thin thread of spit hanging from red lips, and the wet traces down James’s cheeks cause a feeling somewhere inside Tom that he can’t name. 

Tom tucks himself back into his pants and looks down at James. His face has lost the hardened layers that lack emotion. James’s eyes not only have the colour of whisky aged in an ex-sherry cask but now also show all the things that have contributed to the process, and, for a moment, Tom has to look away. 

James lowers his head again and Tom brushes a hand over James’s arousal as he steps behind the other man to untie him. James whimpers and Tom feels a small smile on his face. He rubs at James’s fingers to check the circulation, then allows himself to run his hands up James’s arms, over his shoulders, and slipping one hand into James’s shirt. 

Tom’s fingers trail through the copious amount of chest hair, thicker and lighter than his own, until he reaches an already hard nipple. James hisses when Tom gives it a sharp pinch so Tom does it again and James throws his head back. Tom brings his mouth to the exposed neck, tongue licking at the salty skin before he starts to suck just long enough to not leave a mark. James’s head is pressed into the arm down his shirt and he can feel the muscles shift in Tom’s arm as the hand forms a fist.

James finally brings his free hands forward and starts to unbutton his own shirt. When Tom notices the movement, he walks around the chair again so he faces James and watches, cupping his erection through damp fabric. 

When James has finished unbuttoning his shirt, revealing tanned flesh and little moles that Tom notices for the first time in this light, James attempts to stand up but Tom is already there. He restricts James’s movement and closes a hand around his throat, where the flesh is a bit red from Tom’s mouth and a few moles accumulate like a tiny star system. 

Tom’s fingers dig into James’s neck on both sides and James has no option but to follow when Tom starts to drag him towards the sleeping space. The thin mattress is surprisingly soft when Tom’s knees sink into it. He pushes James down and lets go of his throat. James lands with a dull sound and doesn’t move. 

“On your back.” Tom says and James responds immediately, licking his lips. 

Tom crawls over to him, one hand running along the inside of James’s thighs, and looks into his face, eyes captivated by the half-open mouth. He runs a finger over James’s lips before claiming them in a hard kiss. Tom runs his tongue over those lips before biting down and James bites back hungrily before trying to suck Tom’s bottom lip into his mouth.

It’s that heat he has been waiting for. They fight over lips, James is straining against Tom’s weight just for Tom to push him down again and James’s hands run over Tom’s body, grabbing flesh like he’s trying to tear it off and get to something underneath. Tom is holding James down with one hand in the middle of his chest, digging into muscles, the other hand fisting James’s cock in his underwear until James is gasping into Tom’s mouth. 

“Hands up.” Comes another order from Tom.

James raises his arms above his head while Tom quickly gets the spindle of rope again. Tom binds James’s wrists together and ties them to a tent pole with a bit of line left so that he can still move in all directions. There is a small pillow and Tom uses it to prop up James’s head before stripping off his own pants. He wants to do it slowly but the look James gives him has Tom back sitting on James within seconds. 

Tom doesn’t fully sit on James but holds himself up with his arms on either side and slides upwards, cock rubbing over James’s chest and over sensitive nipples. Without any instructions, James opens his mouth and draws Tom in, sucking and licking up the length of Tom’s erection. Tom supports James’s head with one hand, pressing his balls into the hot mouth before backing up a bit and sliding between the wet lips. He is getting himself worked up again, holding James’s head in place and fucking it fast when he feels James relax. 

He soon has to stop, releasing James’s head back onto the pillow, and sits next to where James is on his back.

“Turn around.” Tom tells James and grabs the spindle of rope again. 

He pulls James’s trousers and pants off, leaving James also completely naked, hard cock pressing into the ground. Tom takes his time to take in the sight in front of him. He is stroking himself while his fingers knead the strong muscles of James’s arse. When he lets his fingers touch the softer flesh further down, James buries his head in the pillow. Tom gives him a quick slap on his arse.

“Don’t hide.”

“Please.” Is all James gives as an answer. 

Tom slaps him again, harder this time, and again, waiting in between so James doesn’t get used to a rhythm. Tom can hear James’s rapid breathing and takes the metal edge he had wanted to use before. 

He experimentally runs it down the backside of one thigh which has James gasp in surprise. Tom tries it on the other side, applying a bit more pressure this time and gets the same reaction. The muscles in James’s arms are tense, his hands curled into fists. 

Tom watches red lines appear. They are only scratches but it’s very visually satisfying. The next one he sets is above James’s arse, just short of where those dimples are. This time he leans down and licks at the fresh scratch, causing the first loud moan to escape James’s mouth. 

Tom keeps licking and sucking at the scratch, not caring about any bruising this time. His hands wander teasingly around the sensitive areas. James isn’t holding back anymore and with every whimper Tom wants more. 

He delivers another series of smacks to James’s backside that have James trying to raise his arse in anticipation and stopping himself from rubbing against the mattress. Tom is running his hand over the reddened skin, watching James flinch when he presses into the scratches that have become welts.

“Ten more. You are counting down.” Tom says and adds “If you mess up, you don’t get to come. “ 

James nods.

“On all fours,” Tom whispers close to James’s ear. He places a hand underneath James’s chin to lift the head. There is sweat on James’s forehead and Tom has to will himself not to touch it. 

This time, Tom keeps a steady rhythm. The muscles in his shoulders are burning but that sensation is overpowered by the pleasant humming in his hand. 

“One,” James chokes out when Tom lands the last blow. 

James’s head is resting on his forearms, his torso heaving, his cock glistening with precum. Tom puts a hand to the small of James’s back and presses down, causing James to arch his back until his arse is higher than his head. 

Tom wraps a hand around James’s cock from behind, feeling it glide smoothly in and out of his tight fist. He runs his thumb over the swollen head, trying to ignore the desperate noises that echo in his own throat. 

“T- Tom,” James demands with a rough voice that has Tom squeeze his fist even tighter. 

Tom frantically moves his fist as James bucks into his grip. That’s not how Tom had planned this to go but something about watching James become undone in front of him prevents him from stopping. 

While working James’s cock, Tom spits on James’s arse, watching his saliva trickle down the crack, and presses the thumb of his other hand into the tight hole. James cries out a few seconds later, coming all over Tom’s hand. 

Tom keeps working his thumb in and out while James recovers, spitting on it once more, stretching him open for what is to come. When James has calmed down enough, Tom shifts slightly to the side to hold the hand to James’s face that is covered in James’s cum. 

“Clean that off,” he says in a voice that betrays his own arousal.

Tom watches in fascination how a smirk tugs at James’s lips before it is wiped away by his tongue darting out. Every finger is sucked into James’s mouth and licked clean. When James traces Tom’s knuckles with his tongue, it sends a shiver straight to Tom’s cock, standing hard and fully erect again. James continues to run his tongue over the new-found sensitive spot and Tom has to stop moving his other hand, grabbing James’s hip to steady himself. 

Tom gets behind James, letting his cock press against James’s arse, sliding it up and down the crack to tease until he can’t take it anymore. He slowly presses the head of his cock inside James to line himself up, then buries himself fully with one hard push. Tom knows James can take it, wants to be taken like this, needs it just as much as he does. 

It doesn’t take long before Tom comes with one last hard push, gripping at James’s hips, belly touching all the abused flesh. James sinks down flat onto the mattress and Tom rolls onto his back, breathing hard. 

When Tom can breathe normally again, he gets the metal edge from the spindle of rope and unties James, who doesn’t rub at his wrists but just looks at the marks that won’t be easy to hide. 

Tom rolls onto his back and feels James do the same next to him. He is too drowsy to care about any of this and allows himself to give into the urge to run his fingers through James’s hair.

There are patterns on the walls like clouds to be interpreted but for the moment the night swallows all thoughts and sleep claims them. 

When Tom wakes up, James is still asleep and has curled into himself, knees pulled up and his nose almost pressing into Tom’s side. Tom’s hand is still on James’s head, warm and a bit damp. Not wanting to wake James, Tom tries to carefully untangle himself from where he is laying and manages to locate his clothes. 

He doesn’t look back before he steps out, re-entering the world. The feeling from last night is there again, the current, the pull. It’s a siren’s silent song, appealing to the flesh and soul, and no less sad than sweet. If the low tide brought him back to this tent, he has to try and catch the high tide while he still can. He can’t afford to get stuck in a windless calm, so he closes the flappy door behind him and hopes his feet carry him back to terra firma. 

Tom runs a hand through his hair and discovers that the mud has glued together some of it.

He can feel his body ache with every step but he will blame it on a bad back and too much cider. 

Fight the Power. Back to work.


End file.
